a collection of thoughts and emotions, carelessly twisted into words on the leaf of a notepad
.:taure.anwar.rodrigues:.

3.25.2009

Butterfly Theory

locust sounds all around surround me with their native tonguesthe words unfold into stories told of mankind’s living sinsmy sisters and brothers of the swarm beat their wings in the summer’s windsthey tell me secrets of the world learned from the ancient virgin nymphshe unwinds a tale from African lands; the people and their sufferingetched inside her crystal wings centuries of slaves speak of their lamentthe souls of our ancestors wrap themselves around a linen documentand with the joining of the two deliver messages directly heaven sentwe find the heart in a place that base existence on the subject’s shade of skinthe coarse black hair stands on end when beaten with horse’s whipslashes unleashed on back and neck cause abuse felt by the next of kinand from the scars rise bloody mounds resembling hand painted faces of childreneyes well with tears and water drops down rusty cheeks charred by the rising sunthe moisture left behind outlines a sketch of shuffling feet along the auction blockthe step up to the hanging noose that many of them gotfor feeling lost in a land not indigenous to their mindsnow working on massa’s farms and paid just pennies for their timeto feed a family of light skinned children who don’t belong to the hostbut instead an alien brood hidden from the old plantation’s ghostspersecution of my people continues throughout decades of racial turmoiltime unfolds and a superior larva crawls from the tightly packed soilready to enforce the civil liberties given to you and IEarl Little and Martin Sr. carried seeds of the future leaders; now angels in the skytheir voices moved an entire generation into marching and sitting down for a whileshowing the nation that we as a people together are a force to be recognizeda people that cannot be thrown into the lions pit and torn from limb to limbbut instead one to learn from and invest a piece of future inthe growth of a people and persecution sometimes go hand in handbut to know where we are headed we have to know where we’ve beenand now Barack emerges as the Ornithoptera Alexandraeand the elders can now smilefor all the miles our people have traveled the snakes now have somethinghard to swallowfrom this man we all shall risethe way the sun does; everyday that we call tomorrow